


Not All of It Is True

by In_These_Words



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Blowjobs, Character Bleed, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mild Angst, Misha playing hard to get, Pining Jensen, mention of Philip Schneider, no it isn't a food kink thing, whipped cream?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_These_Words/pseuds/In_These_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen wants Dean to leave his head space alone, he also wants Misha</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All of It Is True

“I’m fine Sam”…. _no that’s not right_

“I SAID I’M FINE” he snaps…. _too bitchy_

“m’fine”….. _well now he just sounds like a huffy kid_

Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair, staring at his reflection in the trailer window.

“…..and then I just grabbed his ass, and he honest to god squealed like a girl…no-not that that’s a bad thing honey…”

The mark is fabricated to suffocate Dean with the implication of what he’s becoming with it,

“….because I don’t think he was expecting the tongue in his ear that followed…which yeah…big mistake I mean has he _met_ me…”

There’s an internal warfare where he’s grabbing at threads to prove himself that he’s nothing like Cain,

“…no Gen m’ not promising anything, I can’t keep my hands off him he’s just begging to be tortured, he’s like my personal teddy…who’s balls I can fondle…”

-and yet he’s jonesin’ to…

“…aw c’mon baby… _no_ I will not leave him alone, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me…. _hey!_ no fair…”

-cope a feel of that blade again and…and…

“….oh no you did _not_ just say t-“

“DO YOU MIND!” Jensen snaps at the giant currently occupying his couch, script forgotten and lying on the floor. Jared jolts like he’s just been tazed and Jensen get’s a kick out of it.

They were supposed to run lines today but Jared apparently decided Gen needed a detailed narration of how her husband groped and fondled Misha instead of letting Sam hug Cas.

Said co-star and annoying best friend gives him an apologetic smile and hangs up after a few embarrassing kissy noises and I love you’s for each and every member of the family, Sadie and Harley included.

Jared’s blissful face makes him look away with a trickle of remorse. With their schedule over this time around, Jay doesn’t always get to talk to her and the kids properly, shooting that spin off turned out to be more demanding than expected. Plus they’ve got plenty of days to do this so it’s not like it matters if they kill a little time.

He sighs. Not this again.

He hates getting this asshole-ish level of testy and god knows how many temper tantrums he’s had since morning.

Dean’s got a knack for wearing him out.

He jerks a little when Jared slaps him on the shoulder, concern etched all over his features as he holds a bottle in Jensen’s face “beer?”

Well he could use a little alcohol right about now.

*****

“…Aaand scene! Alright good work guys. Next is the Dean and Cas hug followed by the torture scene, get that extra ready and take a break we’ll meet back in 15.”

Was it? Good work? He scoffs.

Jensen starts a stomp towards the director’s room determined to demand another take when from the corner of his eye he catches the stooped figure of the extra he was scuffling with in the last take. He looks pretty beat. The guy’s perched shirtless on a bench, hunched over and cringing as the make-up guy takes care of his bruises. Angry red marks blooms all over his upper back from his collision with the pavement; the opening trickles of blood clotting over the chafed skin on his shoulder blades. Jensen winces when the make-up guy dabs an astringent soaked cotton ball to the scrapes followed by quiet hisses by his patient. He can roughly make out his own handprint on the extra’s bicep where he gripped him rather forcefully. Jensen _did_ throw him pretty hard. And it looks like the guy won’t be doing the stunt again any time soon.

Guilt pummels him like an unsuspected anvil and he halts in his steps, clenching and unclenching his suddenly clammy hands. He sighs and turns on his heels to go back to his trailer and his heart almost leaps out of his throat as he’s met with a set of blue watching him with silent scrutiny.

“Jesus Mish warn a guy,” he whooshes out a harsh breath through his nose and tries to convince himself that the rapid drum against his chest is just surprise.

“You okay?”

“With you keeping that up? I’ll soon have a heart attack”

“Jensen”

“Okay Yes I’m fine why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno you just seem….off,” Misha’s shoulders are tense and he’s making that pinched face of concern again with his neatly arched eyebrows furrowed in a cute frown atop big knowing eyes. He can feel the distress in them like a physical touch. He sort of maybe knows why it’s there- if he remembers correctly in the course of heavy breathing, manhandling another six-footer and an adrenaline haze clouding his vision through the last take- there was a Misha shaped blur observing from the corner as he got more and more violent with the extra.

Misha is the only one who is familiar with… _this_. It was not so much as Jensen telling him than it was Misha’s freakishly precise observation. There was a confrontation, followed by a responded denial from Jensen. But with the days that followed he couldn’t deal with it anymore. He was after all human, part of him glad Misha noticed his dilemma. The vices of a fictional character were clawing at his brain, and he wanted- needed a reality check. He needed to shed Dean’s skin, his payload. He needed Misha.

Jensen was thoroughly hammered that night in a one too many bouts of scotch, he’d required it as a last resort for audacity before dragging himself to Misha’s doorstep.

And Misha, gorgeous, wonderful Misha took it for him. He took the tantrums, the anxiety, the angry outbursts, his emotional drunk blabbering, with desperate clinging and didn’t even bat an eye. His inebriation (and he’ll still blame the alcohol) made him break down, and let the tears flow unrestrained in fits of silent and tired sobs. The resonant yet tranquil presence giving off comfort in the form of an arm looped behind his back, a shoulder under his tear stained cheek and a string of cleverly buoyant and soothing words made it hard to hold back. And if Misha didn’t hear the soft sniffs then he probably felt the wetness seeping through the fabric on his shoulder.

Misha leisurely peeled away Dean’s skin from him like a mother’s self-assured hands peeling at rain soaked clothes plastered on her child’s body to envelop it with a rush of something warm.

It was nice to have that kind of solace. But a small part of his brain yelled at him in a tiny but shrill voice

_You just stripped yourself bare, are you seriously this weak? You’re just gonna go running to him and cry over character bleed every time?_

Jensen tried really hard to stifle that voice. But the remnants were still there.

Misha could just _see_ Dean latched on to him, so Jensen- like at this very moment, very conveniently steers clear of any hints of a discussion. It’s not that he’s terribly anxious to feel vulnerable again-because under that perfect blue that rivals the warm and bright summer sky of Dallas… he’ll just crumble and lay himself bare, it’s just that he’s as sure as the sun rising that once the dam breaks, he’ll turn greedy and he’ll want all of Misha and every kind of comfort he can provide. The kind that he doesn’t think he deserves and Misha isn’t obligated to give.

“You worried about me Mish? Well ain’t that sweet” the tremor in his voice betrays the nonchalance he was aiming for and he curses his mouth for not knowing when he needs it to twist in a convincing grin.

Misha stares back unimpressed and Jensen waits for the retort but to his relief the man shakes his head- either in disappointment or disbelief over Jensen’s persistence- and looks down and away, huffing.

“Don’t flatter yourself Jay, just making sure you won’t screw up the hug”

Its okay this way, there’s no need for a heart to heart- no need to feel rejected at that brush off… right?

_Ask me again, worry about me._

“Oh because I’m the one who screws up our takes huh?”

“Technically it is you”

“Well then technically I’ll not make it easy for you today either”

“Shocker”

“And I hope you’re not all Jared levels of sweaty. I’d rather not smell like you for a week, it’d be bitch to wash off all your musk from me later”

_I’d like to smell like you forever…wait who said that?_

“What? I’m an alpha male and I ought to sweat like one too. Besides no one can sweat like Jared, that guy’s an epitome of perspiration, the God of hidrosis, musk machine two thousa-”

“Aaalright I get the picture. And if I know you, which I do, you’ll probably smell all exotic and minty anyway. Hey remember that girl in Rome squealing around the hallway on her phone how ‘OH MY GOD Misha smells like cinnamon and watermelons” Jensen emphasizes in a high pitched mimicry, breaking into a laugh at the end and Misha’s lips twitch even though he tries not to give in, and that struggle is one of his favorite things to look at. Jensen nudges him with his shoulder and warmth simmers inside him as pearly whites finally peak out under full lips.

 _He_ did that.

He reaches out to slap Misha’s back with manly pats and tries to force his hand- after a few seconds of (not enough) polite contact- to detach from the warmth seeping through the dress shirt. His hand lingers with a mind of its own, fingers feather light as they subtly run along the defined arc of his spine all the way to the dip of his back.

*****

“Cut!”

“Jensen I will _end_ you”

It’s Misha’s admonishing tone and he just wants to pull out more.

“Alright one more time from the top guys”

Jensen wiggles his eyebrows and Misha not very subtly shows him the finger.

“Action!”

He eagerly gathers Misha into a squeeze. Dean has a crushing grip on Cas. It’s been so long and he just needs this semblance of purity and familiarity, and the angel molds so perfectly into his hold.

He waits out for Misha to reciprocate, Cas is a little shocked from Dean’s sudden and frantic display of affection. Once he feels the weight of strong arms around him he runs his right hand along Misha’s spine, tracing over his hips through the layers and let’s it slither inside the angel’s overcoat and coat. With a firm arm around his waist inside the double coated layers Jensen pulls him flush against himself. Misha let’s out a small ‘oomph’ next to his temple. His breath is warm and ticklish in his ear, the body lined up against him from head to toe like a hot furnace.

He’s intoxicated with fresh whiffs of cinnamon. It’s the third take and he’s high on that scent. It’s woody and he can very well smell splashes of watermelon-y cologne, or is it the shampoo. He should find out.

“Cas,” he whispers relieved. The name rolls off his tongue like something intimate, he’s not even sure if that was on purpose. Burying his nose into the crook of his neck he makes sure his lips lightly graze on his pulse.

Misha twitches a little.

Ah yes there’s that hint of spicy aftershave and he just barely refrains from flicking his tongue over the steady throbbing- a hair’s breath away from his lips- to make sure. Every other sound is dulled over the rush of adrenaline in his ears.

He itches for more.

His left hand is latent on Misha’s shoulder and he let’s his thumb brush through the soft tufts of curls on his neck. They’re just so soft and always so tempting that he feels a disturbing urge to nibble on them.

“Hello Dean,” Misha rasps out and that Cas voice all rumble-y and up close in his ear is just not helping his growing situation down south. He only hopes his jeans are tight enough to constrain his over eager dick.

And just why the hell isn’t Misha breaking.

He noses along the shell of his ear and murmurs, lips grazing the smooth skin there with every syllable.

“Is that half a roll o’ certs in your pocket or….are you just really hard for me baby.”

Misha snorts and his body quivers with his raspy giggles. Jensen grins and feels like his body is vibrating with him.

“Dickhead,” Misha grumbles into his shoulder as he hides his face into it from the camera, half tired half laughing. Jensen feels his voice chime all the way to his toes. Damn him and his Cas voice. And stupid hug scenes that give him all the pretext to cling to this equally stupid adorable person.

“Cut! Seriously guys? You were doing so good and here I thought we might actually get something done for a change.”

Oh yeah they’re still hugging. They should probably stop. In like three hours.

Someone coughs.

Exaggeratedly so.

With the greatest willpower that man has ever known, Jensen pulls himself away from everything Christmas and his birthday because science states that hugging someone literally forever is not really possible.

“Cool it man we just gave you some fodder for the gag reel you should thank us,” Jensen yells back. His cheeks feel hot and tingly and he’s positive his face must be lit like the fourth of July.

He turns to Misha who’s grinning at the camera. His face is flushed and his hair is ruffled probably from tucking it in his shoulder when he was laughing.

Jensen feels a wonderfully painful tug in his chest.

“Yeah at this moment I think the gag reel’s gonna end up longer than the whole damn season!” someone yells back.

Jensen rolls his eyes, “Whiny directors!” he bellows

“I heard that you diva!”

“That was the plan! And who’re you calling a diva!”

*****

He’s sat here cooped up in his car for fifteen minutes now. Gnawing at his lower lip he traces the bumps and ridges on the old leather casing of his steering wheel with his thumb, half mindedly aware of the ice-cream tub melting away in the plastic bag set aside on the passenger seat. He should get out soon if he doesn’t want a milkshake.

He sighs and let’s his head thump against the steering, turning it to face the street lights around the guest parking lot as they blink into life one by one, haloed in the twilight mist, and cast a subdued golden sheen over the asphalt and adjoining cars.

His iphone vibrates over the dashboard and lights up the front of his car in a shrill bluish glow. Misha’s pretty, flushed face grins back at him from the device. Jensen took that caller id photo in Rome. They were pleasantly buzzed (understatement) from the beer and the different concoctions Richard offered them over the course of the evening.

Later at night, both of them were huddled under the blanket in Jensen’s bed, Misha sitting just that much closer. He was snooping around on Jensen’s phone and scoffed when he discovered the fluffy winged male angel stripper in a thong as his caller id. Misha argued over how he was not yet a stripper and though he understands that Jensen is clearly enamored by his physique this is no way a suitable photo id that perfectly portrays his body, as the stripper was clearly not as hot as him. Jensen might have agreed internally but retorted that Misha won’t stand still enough to take a decent photo he can use. Misha inquired if he’s asking him to get naked or wear a thong so he can accomplish a private photo shoot and Jensen had shucked a pillow at him. They got handsy and giggly and Jensen tried to pin Misha to the mattress with one arm as he tried to focus his phone’s camera on a struggling Misha from the other.

Misha succeeded in pushing him off a little but just enough to sit up. He was flushed and all drunk soft in his black t-shirt, the corner of his lower lip-plush like a cherry- was tucked under gleaming white teeth in an attempt to squash down the giggles gushing out of him. His hair was a mess with bangs falling on his forehead and little tufts twirling over his head into adorable curls. Misha was looking at him through those feather dusters of raven lashes, pushing at his chest with his hands and his right knee was bent and trapped between them, the left one wrapped around his waist.

He still prides himself for not getting sidetracked and taking the picture at the right time.

He’s doesn’t remember how, but Misha ended up sleeping in his room with him and then took off downstairs barefooted to get breakfast when Jensen was still dead to the world. When he came back hollering obnoxiously loud, Jensen was groggily waking up and cursing the morning person in Misha before almost choking on his own tongue because the guy looked like he had an awesome round of morning sex before he went down.

Jensen smiles as he tentatively runs his thumb over Misha’s lips in the photo, swiping over the screen to answer.

“Hey Mish”

“Where are you, you said you were parking like 20 minutes ago”

“Yeesh you sound like a desperate housewife,” there’s clattering from the other side and he can just imagine Misha with the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he waltzes around the kitchen.

“Well then sweetie you’ll grace this housewife with an explanation,” his tone was teasing and Jensen could play along. He slowly removes his seatbelt and turns off the ignition.

“I had to do overtime darlin’ don’ ya trust your man?” he chastises with his best southern drawl, his face splits in a grin and he tries not to pay attention to the stupid tingles in his stomach over the teems of endearment.

There’s a weird noise like a strangled cough on the other side, he wants to think it’s his accent but Misha’s probably choking on some spices, “I better not smell any fruity perfume or lipstick stains on your clothes mister, or you’re taking the couch tonight,” Misha mutters distractedly over some more clattering.

“And I better not see you wearing any clothes when I get up there”

Misha snorts and Jensen can just see him rolling his eyes, “Alright you win just c’mon up.”

Jensen chuckles, “I’ll be up in a minute”

“Counting down to 59…58…57…”

“Hanging up now,” he taps the disconnect button and stuffs his phone in his jacket. He glances up and his own beaming reflection looks back at him from the windshield.

He’s hopeless

*****

Misha opens the door wearing an apron over a grey t-shirt and dark jeans with disheveled hair making Jensen’ fingers twitch with neediness. He’s also barefoot and Jensen tries not to stare at his feet, those are really nice feet…just like Misha’s hands, currently wrapped around Jensen’s elbow and pulling him in.

It’s warm inside and he’s assaulted with all kinds of mouth watering aromas. Thank god for best friends who can cook like professional gourmet chefs.

Misha takes his jacket and slings it over the coat rack before turning to face him.

“Hey,” there’s a private little smile on Misha’s face and he questions himself everyday how he was lucky enough to have it directed at him.

“Hi,” he doesn’t care if there’s a soppy smile on his own face.

“So did you get th-”

“Ice-cream? Yeah,” he hands him the bag holding the bucket of vanilla ice-cream Misha ordered, hoping there’s actual ice-cream in there and not just a milkshake-y disaster.

Misha gratefully takes it and saunters to the kitchen. Jensen trails after him trying and failing not to admire how nicely the jeans frame Misha’s runner thighs and pert ass.

God those jeans are _tight_.

And his are starting to be.

“Jensen I can feel you staring at my ass”

“I am doing no such thing!” Jensen turns the shade of a tomato when Misha sniggers. One would think he’d not blush after shamelessly slapping the ass in question multiple times in the past every chance he got.

Misha shucks the ice-cream in the freezer and get’s on to work.

Jensen steps aside and out of the way to watch him. He likes watching Misha cook. The graceful and refined way he works around the kitchen is almost hypnotic. Those slender hands handle every ingredient and apparatus with the same care and sincerity they do everything else.

The lights in the kitchen wash it in a soft golden glow and it casts a halo in Misha’s hair. He smiles at how natural it looks there.

There are two ovens already operational and something that smells like barbecue sauce, cooling off on the glass top stove. The station is clattered with veggies, knives, bowls, mixers, and little smidgen of flour here and there. And a can of Budweiser.

“You started drinking without me?”

“I may have had a few sips but no it was for the chicken,” Misha murmurs as he slices a lemon and squeezes it over the Caesar salad, and then finishes with a drizzle of olive oil.

There’s a ping from one of the ovens and Misha turns to it, snagging a knife and a mitten with him to check the chicken. Steam wafts out as he opens the flap and Jensen’s once again assaulted with a whirlwind of flavors. It’s the significant aroma of roasted chicken with all the surreptitious spices and herbs used to coat it. Jensen takes in those shoulder muscles rippling under the t-shirt as Misha pokes at the chicken’s midsection and desperately wants the apron gone. At least he has his bent over friend’s firm tush to ogle.

Satisfied that it’s cooked all the way, Misha pulls it out and places it on the station. The chicken is golden and glistening, peppered with the red sheen of baked seasoning, it’s vertically upright on the roast tray on what seems like another Budweiser can. Misha generously brushes and coats the chicken with the barbecue sauce and pops it back into the oven.

He leans back against the station propping on his hands on either side.

“So…beer can chicken?” Jensen asks leaning his hip on the station beside Misha. He should probably step back a little, but he stubbornly invades the polite circle of personal space.

“Yeah, it’s my first time cooking it, so no promises you'll wake up to see tomorrow.”

Jensen slides forward and leans in closer, “Dude you’re like the best cook I’ve ever known. The chance for that happening is nada.”

And there it is again that secret little smile, with the little tug on the corner of his lips, where he ducks his head and his lashes fan over his cheeks. And maybe it’s just the heat in the kitchen but those cheeks are definitely rosy.

“You little charmer you”

Misha raises his head and Jensen realizes just how close they’re standing. Their grins slowly fade away and Misha’s tongue pokes out to moisten his lips. It leaves a shiny trail in its wake, glistening the already tantalizing lips. Jensen’s eyes attentively follow the action because he’s a masochistic idiot.

His breath hitches with the need to follow that retreating tongue into Misha’s mouth with his own.

Misha blinks back at him owlishly when Jensen’s stomach gives a rather enthusiastic growl, then ducks his head again and chuckles, lightly punching Jensen’s belly, “The master has spoken.”

Misha glides past him to the opposite cabinet and bends over for a wooden spatula.

That ass should be _illegal_. Misha _has_ to be doing this on purpose… it’s just _there_ all firm and perky and it’s too good to just pass up.

Biting his lip he gropes a handful of that firm globe just as Misha straightens up. Misha jumps a little with an undignified yelp and drops the spatula.

“Damn it Jensen! This has _got_ to stop.” One would think, after getting his ass smacked by Jensen almost every other moment of the day, he’d get used to it.

He bends over again to retrieve his wooden spoon and- “Naw you love it” Jensen grabs at it again and squeezes with a satisfying grip. Misha stumbles forward with a grunt and a huff and whips around to smack Jensen with the spoon.

“Ow” Jensen rubs at his arm with the sting of the impact.

“I feel like I need to file a restraining order against you,” There’s a pink tinge to Misha’s cheeks again and Jensen smirks with the responsibility of putting it there. For all of Misha’s cockiness, the guy blushes really easily.

Misha rolls his eyes at his smug face and washes the spoon. He takes the Caesar salad out and serves neat portions on two small china plates. They settle over the stools around the kitchen island and dig in.

“So what’re we drinking? More Budweiser”

“No I thought about white wine, is that okay?”

Jensen hums in agreement and they finish their salads in comfortable silence. Meanwhile the oven chimes and Misha gets up to tend to the chicken. Jensen cranes his neck just in time to see Misha bend over and damn that ass is something else. The twitching dick in his pants is a hard enough proof…no puns intended…maybe just a little.

He takes the chicken out and Jensen’s mouth waters. Misha carefully pulls out the can from the cavity to throw it away and finishes dressing the chicken with finely sliced chilies, spring onion and coriander leaves. Finally he brings it over to the dining table.

Jensen eagerly get’s up from the island stool to join him. The table’s already set up, with Blanc glasses and napkins and all. Usually it’s his job when Misha’s cooking but Jensen guesses he must’ve gotten bored waiting.

Misha goes back inside, his feet thumping over the wooden floor and returns with a bottle of wine submerged in an ice bucket.

Jensen spins the bottle so he can take a look at the label while Misha upturns the glasses,

“Oh _Fumé_ _Blanc_ ”

“Yeah I thought I’d spoil you for a change,” Misha pulls the top open with a resonant pop and pours the pale liquid into the glasses.

Without thinking Jensen tugs at the knot of Misha’s apron at the dip of his back and it slides open. His hand had been itching to do that since he stepped inside. The stupid thing was hiding a good view.

Misha quirks an eyebrow at him and pulls the apron over his head, tossing it over the island stool before sitting down on other side.

“Good thing I wasn’t wearing any string tied lingerie instead,” he mutters around into his glass.

Now there’s an image

“You’re saying you’d wear lingerie for our dinner nights? Hey don’t let me stop you from letting your inner goddess unfurl”

"Why would you, you're a fucking pervert”

Jensen snickers into his glass and takes a mouthful of the white wine and almost moans with the lush tropical mélange exploding on his tongue.

“Mmm remind me to poke around your wine rack”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No…I dunno…maybe, but just remind me to take a look, you might be hiding some serious treasure”

“Aye aye captain”

*****

Nearly done with the main course, Jensen has already proposed marriage to him three times now and that’s when the dessert wasn’t even on the table yet. No really it’s a shame Misha can’t cook for him everyday.

They carry the dishes and the leftovers back to the kitchen with an unspoken agreement for eating dessert later with the movie.

As Misha checks on the blueberry pie Jensen checks his wine rack. Carefully taking out the bottles from the rack embed in the outer facing panel under the kitchen island. Soft clink of bottles echo over the muted whirring of the oven as Jensen pulls the bottles out one by one from the triangular cavities of the wine hive.

“Let’s see, _Claret_ , _Chardonnay_ -" he gasps rather dramatically "-what the hell Misha , _Armand_ _de_ _brignac?_ And you didn’t think of me? I heard Jay-Z was drinking this the other day and _that_ alone is reason enough to try this stuff. When did you even get this?”

“It was a gift from Sasha and stop whining, I was obviously gonna open it with you or Phil,” comes the distracted reply from where he’s gushing over the dessert with the seriousness of a nuclear submarine engineer.

_Of course…Philip…why not_

Jensen let’s out some more scandalized gasps over Misha’s apparently ‘hidden’ wine stash of gold. Misha tells him to ‘stop bad touching his wine rack and to go be useful and choose a movie or something’. Meanwhile he refills the ice bucket and takes some fresh glasses along with it to the living room.

Jensen is already comfortable on the couch, the starting credits to ‘The day After Tomorrow’ playing. Misha settles beside him and fills their glasses.

*****

A quarter through the movie and they’ve naturally gravitated towards each other from the opposite ends of the couch. Jensen might not have noticed if he wasn’t so hyper aware of everything Misha did.

He hasn’t thought about Dean all evening. Having Misha around muted everything else for him. But Misha hasn’t spoken since the movie started and even though Jake Gyllenhaal is a good distraction once Dean crosses his mind he feels tension dock into his shoulders. The scene they shot today plays on repeat in his head. That extra’s pained face is etched into his skull. He sighs, swallowing the last of the ashen liquor from his glass and stares at the empty bottom, roughly making out a reflection of his nose.

Misha shifts in his seat and clears his throat redirecting his attention from the glass, “so uh…” he makes a flail-y motion with his arm “…how are you,” he cautiously asks, grabbing the remote and lowering the movie’s volume.

Jensen’s stomach churns with the images of the beat up extra and all the scenarios of what worse could’ve happened. He clenches his jaw and doesn’t say anything as Misha refills his glass. Swiping at the condensation with his thumb, he wonders if that guy is cursing him for the bruises yet.

Jensen takes another swig and stares down again, tongue tracing over the inside of his teeth.

_Yeah, ‘course I’m okay, it’s just that a guy could've been gravely injured just because I was a little too much into character._

Lying won’t do him any good so he asks just to delay the inevitable, “You knew didn’t you?”

Misha’s lips pull in a sympathetic smile and he takes a sip of his own, “you _are_ kinda obvious Jensen”

Jensen huffs an empty laugh, “yeah” and he hates how hoarse he sounds.

He can feel Misha’s eyes on him, taking in every contour of his face. “Jensen I know what’s going on here, you’re just too transparent in your Dean phase. Five bucks say you were sitting in the parking lot earlier stewing in you own juices.”

Jensen picks at a loose thread over his jeans to avoid the accurate verdict. It’s not really a shocker that Misha just knew. Although there was more than just Dean on his mind in the parking lot- the other issue’s got brilliant blue eyes.

“I’ll do whatever I can to distract you even if it means I have to bitch slap you to make you snap out of it. But if you don’t talk to me I can’t do shit” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. That Jensen’s that big of a priority for him that he’ll take time out exclusively to deal with his character bleed problems.

God what saintly deed had he done to deserve this guy.

Jensen frowns at his glass, feeling awfully guilty for avoiding confrontation all those times. Misha places a warm hand on his knee and squeezes, “Jay?”

Jensen slowly raises his head, meeting Misha’s apprehensive gaze. There it is, that clear blue with the darkness of the deepest unfathomable ocean, enticing him to spill all his secrets for it to swallow in a flash of huge, formidable waves so he never has to carry them again. He breathes in shakily and blinks back the stinging in his eyes. His own thoughts are like a distant blare and when he speaks it’s all muffled through the ringing in his ears.

“Mish…that guy I- _fuck_ , he got hurt cause of me- he wasn’t supposed to take _half_ of that beating. I was just so _angry_ I was fuckin’ pissed and I took it all out on him.” His voice cracks a few times, and damn it he’s not drunk enough for this yet.

Misha squeezes his knee again, his hand a warm and grounding weight “But you _didn’t_ hurt him badly Jay, he’s got some nasty scrapes true, but he _is_ a stunt man and he’s used to this.”

“But all that frenzy w-“

“Was _Dean_ , and now the shoot’s over, Dean’s no longer required. So just, I dunno… let him rest and enjoy your screen time,” Misha smiles before removing his hand and facing the movie again- not really watching and takes a swig.

Enjoy his screen time.

Jensen rakes his eyes over Misha’s profile, his wet lips as he laps at them, chasing the taste of grapes after a mouthful from his glass. Those words though grounding are not at all enough, not anymore. He really wants that hand back on him, and maybe those lips. He just needs a physical touch for reassurance, nothing sexual but just something tangible to hold on to.

Azure focus turns on him again and Jensen averts his eyes breathing out unsteadily.

Misha ducks his head to hold his gaze and Jensen’s eyes glue back to his. They’re so open and pouring. Misha flicks a finger over Jensen’s cheek, grazing over the scruff and smiles, “Gotta say, Dean’s sadness scruff is kinda sexy”

A grin bursts out on his face, despite the knotting in his chest over that casual touch and he looks down to hide it and bat Misha’s hand away. “You shut your mouth”

“That extra will be fine, he’s a big guy. Remember when I threw you up against walls for the alleyway scene? You jumped into the fuckin’ fence Jay and took all that pretty well, granted we had to call in a professional masseuse the next day but you still did it. ‘Cause it was your job. And that extra was doing _his_ job. His role was to take a beating from Dean and he did. I mean sure he got more than he was prepared for but that happens when you’re in this line of work.”

Misha nudges his chin up with a tap of his index finger “so stop bashing yourself for it, and maybe next time we’ll use a stress ball instead of an extra.”

Jensen huffs at that and brushes his fingers over the back of Misha’s hand just hungry for touch.

“Thanks Mish”

“Hey on the bright side you didn’t cry this time”

“Shut up”

*****

Halfway through the movie and all that booze is definitely kicking in, his veins are burning with the warm buzz of wine and Jensen can tell because they’re giggling like school girls. Well _he’s_ doing most of the giggling and Misha’s just being Misha.

Jake Gyllenhaal is still freezing his ass off in the New York public Library and Jensen scoots closer in an unconscious need for heat. His mind still a loop of _touch touch touch_. The only distinction at the moment is that the alcoholic haze is giving him enough balls to actually want to do something.

He’s leaning heavily against Misha’s side, who’s slipped halfway down his seat, so that the top of his head is in level with Jensen’s chin.

He’s staring transfixed at Misha’s hair as the man rumbles on about ‘that one time in Tibet he thought his dick was gonna freeze and then fall off and how he sort of sympathizes with Sam here’.

They look so nice and soft, all feathery and curling behind his ear and over his neck.

Jensen remembers the autograph session in Rome and his inability to resist coddling and snuggling Misha, he looked so awfully enticing just…just sitting there basically. His hair smelled so good and tickled his nose, all soft and supple over his face when he rubbed into them. All that was worth the hundred something eyes observing them.

It’s got to be the wine in his system that makes him lean down and plop his face into the fluff of raven and brown, smooshing against the soft tresses. Misha goes silent as Jensen slowly draws his face side to side, considerably rubbing into them.

“Jensen?”

“Hmm?”

Jensen breathes in and almost moans with the fresh whiff, it’s citrus-y and maybe there’s cucumbers and…why does he have a thing for freshly scented hair.

“What’re you doing?” he voice is hesitant and Jensen despite himself chuckles.

“Man your hair looks like… swirls of chocolate,” he mumbles into the ruffled mess and a logical muffled part of Jensen’s brain tells him he should stop right the fuck now before it attains new levels of creepy. But it is muffled so Jensen ignores it completely in favor of trailing his nose slowly behind Misha’s ear…

“oh”

…and down his neck…

And maybe it’s his imagination but Misha leans into his leisurely ministrations and shivers…and then suddenly stands up, leaving Jensen to unceremoniously flop face-first into the couch. “Hey!”

“The fact that you think my hair is chocolate is our cue for dessert time, c’mon.”

Jensen groans into the cushions but when Misha turns to go away he darts a hand out and pulls him back. Misha topples over the couch and Jensen traps him with his own weight.

_He should really really stop_

“Well. What an interesting vantage point,” Misha murmurs as he resigns to his fate and doesn’t struggle against him.

“Jensen if you wanna drunk wrestle I’m not going to cater to you, ‘cause believe it or not I need my arms tomorrow”

Jensen has almost tuned him out because the column of Misha’s throat is a lot more interesting than any chit chat. Jensen notes that Misha’s staring at him warily and Jensen doesn’t blame him ‘cause he probably looks like he wants to wrap his fingers around that throat and strangle him or something.

Misha has shaved today and Jensen eyes all that smooth milky skin, his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows under Jensen’s scrutiny. He would very much like to suck on it, and maybe bite and suckle till that creamy skin is peppered with pretty purple bruises.

Fuck it he thinks. He needs some physical contact and he’ll let himself have this. The worst that could happen is Misha could punch him in the throat and yell at him to get off. But he’s ready for that if he gets to touch now.

Misha sucks in a harsh breath as Jensen slowly leans down with intent and nuzzles into the crook of his neck. There’s that aftershave again and he really wants to lick it. Misha shuffles under him.

“Jensen wha-“

“You smell nice”

“Looks like _someone_ has had a little too much to drink,” He chuckles breathlessly and Jensen feels it’s tremor in his own chest. He breathes in again and someone hums in approval…wait it’s only him. He can feel his cock swelling in his jeans, and he distantly hopes Misha can’t feel Jensen’s excitement pressed against his hip.

Misha hooks his right leg over his and turns them over so both of them topple over the floor in a pile of uncoordinated limbs. He deftly slithers out from under Jensen’s grasp and stands up.

“Alright back to the kitchen, let’s get you some pie,” Misha declares, all out of breath and flushed all the way from the tip of his ears to the base of his neck, god he wants to lick that throat so damn much.

Misha pauses the movie and saunters off to the kitchen.

Jensen huffs irritably from the floor “Hey come back here!” he’s finally growing some balls thanks to good old Fumé Blanc and he’s not having any of Misha’s suddenly sprouted decency. If he doesn’t make a move now he might never be able to. And that is a thing he does not want to happen.

He staggers into a standing position and follows Misha.

_All right champ, man up, it’s now or never_

_Worst come worst there could be a kick in your balls but hey it’s not as if they aren’t blue and sore already anyway_

He hiccups a little, ah yes alcohol. It’s what gave him all this valor. Thank god for that.

There’s the tell tale sweetness of a baked pie in the air and Misha’s standing facing one of the counters, stretching up and rummaging through the overhead cabinets. His tee is riding up and that sliver of skin with those stupid sexy hipbones of sexual destruction look way more tempting than pie.

Yes he said it, sorry Dean but it’s the truth.

He strides forward and let’s his hand slide over the available expanse of skin, curling around the trim waist. Misha starts under his touch and spins around to face him. Jensen leans forward and buries his face into his neck again. Breathing in some more, he strokes over the supple skin of Misha’s waist and hips under the t-shirt.

“Whoa there sailor!” Misha grabs at it and pulls it out. “Man I knew you were a cuddly drunk but this is a new high even for you, it’s actually kind of cute…and a little rape-y” Misha mumbles into his hair, Jensen does realize that Misha’s been nothing but pliant the whole time ‘cause of course he just thinks its Jensen’s drunk antiques.

He lifts his other arm to properly hold the warm body against him but the sneaky bastard ducks away to walk over to the fridge. The little shit needs to realize that Jensen will never ever again get this proportion of nerve to pursue him like this and the least he could do is stand still so he can concentrate instead of playing chase around the apartment. Jensen eyes the whipped cream Misha pulled out from the cabinet just now and grins.

The moment Misha turns around from the fridge with a bowl of blueberries, Jensen sprays his nose with a fluffy goop of cream.

“The fuck?,” Misha startles, rubbing at his nose and glares as Jensen doubles over laughing.

“Okay you wanna play dirty Ackles, you got it” Misha launches himself at him wrestling away the can and sprays a considerable amount over his ear. Jensen sniggers because it’s cold and ticklish and a dollop of it plops down onto his collar bone, ruining his shirt’s collar.

“Oh no you didn’t!” Jensen tries to snatch the can back but Misha’s quicker and he dodges away but not for long as Jensen snags at his arm and twists him back. Misha’s yanked back flush against him, torso to torso in a weird parody of ballroom dancing. They’re both grinning like idiots and waiting for the other to deal a move. Misha’s beaming at him and biting his lip, his cheeks flushed all rosy. He’s got his arms around Jensen’s waist mostly to hold his swaying form with one of his hands still holding the can.

Misha leans forward with a feral grin and Jensen’s knees wobble a little. He can feel the warm puffs of breath on his lips as Misha murmurs into his face, “One false move Ackles and I’ll cream that ass o’ yours…nice and thick.”

Okay that sounded so dirty and just right with a ringing of fuck yes echoing in his head. And his dick agrees whole heartedly.

Jensen almost stops breathing because his lips are so _close_ , he can smell the wine in his breath. Misha’s smirk slowly fades away as he rakes his eyes over every feature on Jensen’s face and then finally zeroes in on the dollop still plopped on his collar bone. Jensen’s not sure but Misha’s eyes seem to have darkened. He’s already half hard just looking at the guy watch him like that.

Misha licks his lips and ducks, his hair tickling Jensen’s chin. Jensen’s breath hitches as Misha catches the stray dollop into his mouth without so much as grazing his lips over his skin.

He straightens up and his mouth is foamed with creamy goodness. Misha pokes his tongue out, running it over his lips as he collects the stray cream and takes it back into that wicked mouth. Somewhere in his own mouth his tongue is crying- _take me with you_

“Mmm you shouldn't waste good cream Ackles” he mutters, his face pinched thoughtfully.

“…Uhh…” _You're a sadistic asshole and you hate me_

Misha grins and turns away… _again_.

Jensen feels like his balls are gonna fall off like this.

He walks to the island and starts slicing the blueberries possibly for pie decoration and he doesn’t know why Misha’s bothering, it’s just them.

Never let anyone say that Jensen doesn’t try his damndest to get what he wants.

He sidles up behind him to lean over his shoulder and props his hands over the island on either side of Misha, effectively trapping him.

He hooks his chin over Misha’s shoulder and watches those hands work.

“Jensen what are you doing?”

“You’re warm and comfy,” Jensen can feel the eye roll in the air and doesn’t pay heed to it.

He tucks his cheek snug against Misha’s and sighs happily, his lashes brushing against Misha’s cheek with every blink. He turns his head a little bit more so his nose is bumping below his jaw and takes a drag full of the aftershave. If Misha really thinks it’s just drunk tantrums then he'll see how far and forward he can go before he believes otherwise.

“Hey Mish, I read that thing you know”

“That thing?”

“That _thing_ ”

“…care to elaborate?” Misha’s still slicing with precision, his voice distracted.

“Ya know the one where you said people think you’re Castiel-ish? Or a selfless maverick or-” Misha tenses a little under his chin and Jensen rumbles out”-that you’re secretly screwin’ me in your trailer”

“Hmm…I didn’t know they released that yet,” Misha murmurs, still slicing with accuracy, the patter of knife rather loud in the silent kitchen.

“Well would you?”

“Would I what?” again with the uninterested voice and the stupid pattering.

Jensen whispers breathily into Misha’s ear, nosing over it and just letting all the pent up desires out through his voice,

“Screw me in your trailer?”

“Fuck!”

Jensen suddenly pulls back at the loud clatter to see what‘s wrong and mutters a curse when he catches the red oozing out of Misha’s index finger.

He takes his hand and then without thinking stuffs the tip of his bleeding finger into his mouth. He sucks at the copper-y tang, it’s not really distinguishable over all the sweet pulp of blueberry coated on his digit. At the sharp intake of breath Jensen looks up to see Misha hungrily staring at him. His cock perks up again at that look.

“Jesus Jay you can’t just say that when I have a knife in my hand,” he sounds breathless and Jensen likes it.

Without breaking eye contact, Jensen let’s more of the digit slip into his mouth, suckling tentatively. Misha lips part, and his eyes- slowly swallowed by black, track the way his finger slips in and out of his mouth. Jensen sucks till there’s no copper and only blue berries and _Misha_.

Jensen takes in another finger without breaking eye contact and enjoying how utterly wrecked his usually self assured friend looks. He sighs, closing his eyes and laps at the slender digits, laving in between and swirling his tongue around them. At least he’s out of the ever present predicament of Misha not wanting to get physical with him.

The look in Misha’s eyes is absolutely dangerous, his breath labored and he pulls his fingers free from his mouth with a distinguished wet noise and Jensen grunts at the loss. Wet fingers trail over his scruff, spreading the sweet syrup of blueberries over his chin.

_Yes yes touch me, keep your hands on me._

“What are you doing Jay,” Misha whispers running his thumb over the plush lower lip, catching at it and pulling his mouth open. Jensen groans as Misha dives in head first, letting his tongue slide inside.

His knees buckle because there’s technique and then there’s _technique_ , and Misha’s tongue exceeds both. He tastes better then any fantasy he could muster, all white wine and whipped cream and Jensen chases every drop eagerly, licking into that hot cavern.

Misha pulls him flush against himself by the waist and sucks on Jensen’s tongue with a long satisfied sigh. His hands slip into Jensen’s Henley, searing hot palms tracing the expanse of his torso, from hips to ribs, dragging the hem of his shirt with them, groping on handfuls pectoral muscles, thumbs twirling over already perked up nipples making him stutter out a moan.

“Mmm nice man boobs,” Misha mumbles into his mouth with an enthusiastic squeeze.

Jensen wants to retort with a sassy comeback but fuck those hands are so good on him, wide, slender and hot and just right. So he slides his hands over those sinful hips, sneaking into the tee and stroking at the silky skin. His hands slide further back and finally _finally_ take handfuls of the sweet ass. He moans as Misha changes angle to delve his tongue in deeper and gropes and squeezes at the firm globes through his jeans, growling as he realizes Misha’s not wearing any underwear. Misha chuckles against his lips. That husky voice is dark and dangerous and Jensen is oh so ready for this. His cock’s already with the program, full and aching against the confines.

The kitchen is quiet save for the wet lapping of tongues and loud smacks of lips. Jensen can guarantee he’s never been tongue fucked this good in his life. Misha sucks on his bottom lip, nibbling on it and then lapping at it with a soft tongue to soothe the tingles. It’s after his lips are almost numb that Misha pulls apart enough to look him in the eye, panting harshly against his mauled lips. They stare at each other, Misha’s lips are swollen red and wet, and his face is flushed, pupils dilated with a gleaming ring of blue, it makes his insides roar knowing that he put that look there, this time for the right reasons.

“I should’ve known your fixation with my ass meant _something_ ”

“Yeah well it’s a pretty sweet ass you got there,” he proves his point by clasping it more firmly.

Misha’s breath falters a little and he licks his lips, closing his eyes he tries to catch some much needed oxygen. Jensen uses that time to trail kisses along his clean shaved jaw, the skin smooth and warm under his lips, scent intoxicating, he nuzzles behind his ear and breathes in.

“Damn you smell so good,” Jensen moans against that delicious column of neck, lavishing it with sweet little wet kisses. He tugs at the collar of the grey t-shirt and pulls it out of the way to suckle over the juncture between shoulder and neck and then licks a stripe all the way behind his ear. Misha’s making sweet little approving noises under him, completely pliant as he sucks and licks. He tastes even better, like whiskey and wood smoke and salty musk with something sweet. He’s so hard and burning between his legs, leaking with every taste of the warm skin on his tongue and soft noise escaping ravaged pink lips but he wants to savor it.

Jensen finds the throbbing pulse under his lips and pinches the skin between his teeth and suckles softly, parting with a resounding pop. He nuzzles the spot again and sinks his teeth in. Misha grunts and rewards him with a tug in his hair. Kissing the indentation he caused Jensen sucks earnestly, breaking the blood capillaries underneath the soft skin. He pulls back to admire his work and hums at the red blooming over the velvety skin, nestling the spot with his lips and kissing it sweetly.

Misha holds his face up and he get’s a second to access the tender look in his eyes before he smushes their mouths together in a comparatively softer kiss. It’s sweet and slow with little kitten licks and Jensen whimpers into it. Carding his fingers through the much craved raven locks, he combs through the fluffy mess and scratches over his scalp. Misha’s chest rumbles with a purr over the attention.

They part again for air and just stare at each other with heavy panting breaths. Jensen runs his thumb along the puffy lower lip and catches it between his lips, nuzzling a sweet kiss just because he can.

And there it is, that beautiful shy smile framed by puffy pink lips, head ducked, lashes falling over flushed cheeks and his heart just aches. Jensen leans forward and showers his face with kisses, altering between his eyelids, his temple, cheeks and nose till Misha’s a giggling mess.

His lungs feels like they’ll explode and he’s suddenly drowning in a surge of emotions. The throbbing between his legs feels like a dull need compared to the ache in his chest. It’s like he’s suffocating. He takes Misha’s hand kisses the back of it, feeling like any amount of kissing can’t portray the intensity of his feelings for this man.

Misha pulls back and kisses his forehead murmuring a soft “Its okay,” against him.

And then he’s hugging him, with a ‘squeeze ‘em till they lose their air supply’ kind of hug. It’s warm and solid and something that he desperately needed right now. Jensen melts into, biting his lip ‘cause no he’s still not going to cry.

There’s a hand slowly carding through his hair, as Misha just holds him through it. Jensen rocks a little into him and grunts at the sudden pressure of Misha’s hipbones against his swollen cock.

Misha chuckles and clears his throat to say something and Jensen snickers

“Don’t you dare say it Mish”

“Is that half a roll o' certs in your pocket or…”

Jensen groans

“Actually this is no fun 'cause I already know that you’re hard for me baby,” Misha mumbles into his ear and cups the bulge still prominent through his jeans. And Jensen groans in a different way.

“Since I can’t procure my trailer just yet, how about we make do with my king size bed instead,” Misha whispers into his ear, massaging his erection with a teasing motion.

“I’d agree but I can’t move with your hand doing all that to my dick,” Jensen grates out.

“Hmm,” Misha pops open his button and tugs at his Henley, “Off”

Jensen complies, pulling it off and over his head to shuck it over the counter. Misha’s already on his knees, dragging the zipper down and nuzzling the bulge under his boxers.

The sight of Misha on his knees for him, staring back with a laser focus is probably the hottest thing yet. Jensen leans back heavily over the island and bites his lips as Misha mouths at the wet spot through the fabric. He slowly drags his jeans down over his hips to grope at his boxers, kissing and nipping at every inch of new skin bared.

His cock bobs free, painfully hard, pre-come pearling at the tip as his boxers are lowered to his knees. Jensen let’s out a surprised grunt as Misha ducks down and suckles at his balls. His cock twitches and a stream of clear pre-come oozes at the slit as Misha works his lips torturously slow. Raking them over the length and then taking the swollen head in his mouth, he dips his tongue into the slit, teasing and sucking around the crown.

“Fuck” Jensen grips the counter for dear life because those lips stretched over his girth is the most filthily gorgeous sight ever.

Misha dips forward and without warning swallows him down, sucking earnestly and swirling his tongue around, laving along the thick nerves on the underside. Jensen whimpers and grasps at Misha’s hair. As soon as he tugs them Misha pulls back to look at him and tuts, “I don’t think so Jay, hands to yourself.”

And Jensen obeys, pulling his hand back and digging his fingers into the marble instead because he’ll fucking do a handstand to get that mouth back. Misha rewards him by poking his tongue out for a teasing little kitten lick over his head before kissing it.

_“Mm-Mish”_

Misha takes pity on him and swallows him down again, with both his hands grasping tightly over Jensen’s thighs. He bobs his head, sucking with just the right pressure and graze of teeth. Jensen trembles and moans brokenly, all qualms about staying vocally indifferent out the window. Misha laps under the head before speeding up and moaning around him. His scorching hot hand darts out to nimbly roll his balls.

He’s leaking wet like a girl, a steady stream of pre-come milking out of him and Misha’s chin is dribbled with come and spit. The wet squelching sound of his tongue and lips running ruthlessly wild over the hot flesh is loud and making Jensen whimper with high pitched moans.

Misha snakes in another hand and slides it behind his balls to poke around his rim and then rubs at something he’s pretty sure is his prostate from the outside, effectively tipping him over the edge. Misha pulls off just as Jensen cries out his release. He comes in thick spurts and Misha strokes him through it. Some of it catches on Misha's chin and neck and his dick jerks feebly. After he’s milked dry, Misha puts his mouth on him again making him whimper and softly suckles and kisses him through it till his cock softens and Jensen hisses from oversensitivity. Misha laps one more time to clean the last few drops and stands up. Jensen scrabbles to pull him flush against himself, their foreheads joined as he gulps in some air. Misha chuckles again and pecks his nose before brushing his sweaty hair back,

"That good?"

"fucking perfect Mish, fuck your mouth sir,"

Jensen sucks away the wayward drops of come on Misha’s chin and his neck, moaning sated. Misha hums,

"maybe another day."

Misha cups his face and licks into his mouth again, letting Jensen taste himself on his tongue. Misha’s still prominent erection pokes at his stomach and he darts his hand out to reciprocate. Misha catches it and shakes his head

“Tonight’s about you Jay, I’ll be fine”

“Good then let me do this, I really want to,” he pops open Misha’s jeans and slides his hand in with ease. Misha rests his forehead against Jensen’s and smiles.

“Ever the southern gentleman”

Jensen kisses him and strokes with a sure and firm grip, spreading pre-come to make the slide easier. He’s been hard for a while and it’ll only take a few strokes to push him over the edge.

The kitchen once again echoes with the sound of the wet slide of skin on skin and Misha’s labored breathing. Jensen rubs his temple against Misha’s jaw, and kisses his cheek.

“Mish”

Misha replies with a hum and a nip to Jensen’s ear lobe.

This is actually happening and Jensen would pinch himself if his hands weren’t busy. Everything is a distant dull ringing over Misha’s sweet little moans. Jensen murmurs everything and nothing into his ear, ranging from fucking filthy to sickly sweet, his brain to mouth filter off to another dimension.

“Yeah so good for me, wanted to do this for so long, fuck, so many things I wanna do to you,”

“So gorgeous sweetheart look at you, Mmm that's right baby, ride my hand.... god I love you so much.”

Misha comes with a strangled moan, spilling over Jensen’s fingers and his stomach. He sways a little and Jensen holds him close, nuzzling into his hair. This is all that he could have expected. And it’s enough, he doesn’t anticipate Misha to say it back. Of course it’ll be nice to hear it now, at this moment, but he just smiles because he knows there’ll be plenty of time to be told that and more.

Misha has already gone above and beyond to make him feel better.

The man in question mumbles something into his shoulder and he doesn’t catch it at first.

“What?”

“I said… how about that pie now?”

Jensen chuckles, "I could use some pie"

*****

They end up dozing off on the couch with Misha on his back and Jensen plopped over him between his legs. Pie plates wiped clean and stationed on the rug. Jensen kisses Misha’s chest before finally his eyes give in to fatigue, lulled by the rise and fall of his friend's chest accompanied by a strong and distinct rhythm under his ear. He finally has that warm body he was craving, cradling him so tightly that Dean can’t even brush his thoughts, shut down somewhere under the ‘work’ recess of his mind and Jensen has never felt so light.

*****


End file.
